


four marks to make a man

by jack_inaboxx



Category: Original Work
Genre: also, and this is mostly an original work but, im not putting them all in the characters, lots of different versions of alex referring to each other with nicknames, so i still dunno how to tag, uhh, way too many for that, with references to other non-original works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: There are four marks that set each of them apart from their otherwise identical mirrors.





	four marks to make a man

There are enough of them running around, at this point, that it’s rare to find the meeting-of-minds without at least a few of them there. 

Anchor, for his part the most recent arrival, and for their part the youngest, spends a lot of time here. It is... not unlike the Lodestone, in his own mind. His own network of worlds. 

They all have things in common, besides a name, besides a face. Things that are similar, but different enough that it comforts them. They may be the same, but they are still individual; they are still _themselves_ , not hollow copies of everyone else. 

In his watching, his thinking and considering and note-taking, Anchor has made a list of things; this, then, is what he has found. 

-

There are four marks with which they divide themselves, retain their identities as _separate_ and distinct from the _whole_. 

The first; the tattoo, on the chest over the heart, usually a bird or at least related. Anchor’s own is a faded thing, gotten in a childhood he barely remembers, before he started falling through worlds. It’s a swallow, mid-dive, stylized and rendered in gentle, deep-blue ink. 

The second; the back, and the map of scars on it. All of them have a myriad of smaller scars, and, sometimes, larger ones, but the ones on the back are constant, and vivid, and _vicious_. They are always harsh and sensitive to the touch. Most often they come from a fall. Anchor’s own are laced with a strange shine, like stardust trapped in the edges, and came from his first trip through the wall between dimensions. 

The third; the thigh, usually left, sometimes right, always enough to cause a limp. Sometimes it’s only in bad weather; sometimes bad enough to be a constant, obvious thing. Anchor’s own is small, but painful, a pinprick of pain straight to the nerve in his thigh. 

The fourth, and last, and most varied; the mourning-band, the sign of regret that they all carry, a pain they all share. It is anything from a strip of cloth, to a belt, to a ring. Anchor carries his in the burned scar in the shape of a medallion on his hand. 

-

So; the four marks of individuality. The four marks of identity. Why does it always come down to four, he wonders? 


End file.
